And by “time” I mean the last several months. And the 15 years before that. Give or take. Right around the time I decided to start Skipping with Scissors (which was a solid year before I got around to launching it) – because I was finally coming out of my cocoon of introspective, self-indulgent writing funk and observing the hilarity in the universe around me – I sent a few samples to some friends whose opinion I trust.
The responses varied:
Best friend:
BF: You’re an asshole.
Me: So I’ve been told, but what did you think of the post? Focus on ME.
BF: Don’t send me shit like that when I’m in meetings, it’s tough to explain to the VP of marketing why coffee is dripping from my nose.
Me: Whatever. Tell them you did too much coke in the 80s.
BF: I’m only 39.
Me: Bonus points for hanging out with Drew Barrymore as a kid.
BF: The post was good. But this conversation is better.
Me: Thanks. Now go back to your den of iniquity. Don’t put ecstasy in your vag. Just trust me on that…
BF: Too late.
click.
Lazy friend:
LF: You know I don’t read. But I’m willing to bet it’s at least as funny as watching you try to justify doing headstands in the middle of the lawn after 4 margaritas.
Me: That didn’t happen.
LF: Didn’t it?
shit.
Writer friend:
WF: You should be writing. You should totally be writing about your life right now. Because if you downplay the sadness, loss, and grief, as well as the real potential for murder/suicide, the whole situation is pretty amusing.
Me: It really pretty fucking funny, isn’t it.
WF: Yep. Plus, you run into things a lot and that’s never not funny.
truth.
While I am learning to find inspiration everywhere, that last conversation was the one that pushed me to launch SwS, and has kept me looking for the humor in the absurdity that surrounds us everyday. If nothing else, the universe is incredibly generous with such gifts.
But here’s the thing…I have this little problem with not wanting to post a piece until it’s “perfect” or makes a point or has been written and re-written to death and is the best version of anything I can imagine. That shit takes time and energy and creativity that I don’t often find in high doses (vaginal or otherwise), therefore I don’t write or publish – or give myself the chance to write with the intent to publish. And that sorta defeats the point of this whole bloggy blog.
So, I am making a pact with myself (and the interwebs) to publish at least one blog post a week for the rest of 2015. That’s only 7 posts (let’s not even talk about how that happened). They might be about anything from the dead plants in my yard to that time (ahem, Wednesday) I yelled SCROTUM really loudly in front of my boss all for the sake of winning a game. If I can make the time to write something – anything – during the busiest time of the year and find the courage to put it out there for you, dear friends and random readers, to comment upon and critique, I can hopefully find the momentum to keep going. Fair warning, some of these posts might be utter shit. But it will be my shit…my shit that I’m sharing with you. ‘Tis the season of giving after all.
1 Comment
So much for 1 post a week. Still time for 7 posts before the end of the year though, just twice a week should work.